Moment of Impact
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Yet another little piece of the Post Weed Saga.


Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no profit from them.

Rated: K+

Author's Notes: _The Birthday Present_ is this week's episode on the Gulls Way Board, and, while, between Cheri and me, there are few aspects of this that we've left unexplored, there's always room for a couple more missing scenes.

There's a brief and obscure reference in here to another story, _Hearts and Flowers_.

Many thanks to Owl and Cheri, both nocturnal betas with excellent night vision.

**Moment of Impact**

By L. M. Lewis

Well, it wasn't what Hardcastle'd been expecting, one moment sitting there—_oh, God, a year, no, a year and a half, and he'd never realized how much he'd missed it—_with that idiot Randall ranting on about justice, and he, himself, trying to impose some decorum back on the situation—he damn well wasn't going to let Randall make a shambles of the process. Then something in the man's tone had changed, a rising unhinged note that was more than a threat, and Weed reached for the law book on the table in front of him.

_The damn fool's gotten his hands on a gun._

And no time to even wonder how. An explosive sound and a punch in the chest that almost knocked him back out of the chair.

Movement, sounds, but so damn hard to take a breath, and everything closing down to just the moment, and he was pretty sure Mark was there. Yes, he was. He tried to tell him what he already must know. This was bad; he couldn't breathe and he wasn't going to be able to say much more. And there was so much more to say.

_Doesn't matter. He must know the rest of it, too._

00000

He opened the front door and stepped inside. Silence. He frowned, glanced once quickly into his den. Nobody there, of course. Then he walked down the hall, past the dining room and finally entered the kitchen. Everything neat and tidy, but no one there, either. This was all very wrong, very unexpected, though he didn't want to look too hard at the reason why.

He was back at the front of the house. He stepped out, onto the porch, and cast one look in the direction of the gatehouse, but didn't go that way.

_The beach. _

Well, it was a nice day, ideal California weather. The few clouds were perfectly shaded and the sky was an almost hypnotic blue.

He was on the stairs, the path leading down to Seagull Beach—at first glance, no one there, either, but he had a notion. He looked one more time eastward and there, not too far off, he saw a familiar figure, just where he had thought she would be.

"Okay," he huffed gently, as he strolled over in her direction, "where the hell _is_ everybody?"

"Oh," She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking momentarily surprised, "Milt, I don't think we were expecting you."

He looked down at his watch—nine forty-five am. He frowned again. "Yeah, well, it is a little early." He paused on that, trying to remember why he'd gotten done so soon.

But Nancy just smiled at his apparent absent-mindedness. "Not that we aren't glad to have you home."

"Where's Tom?" he asked impatiently.

Nancy's smile looked a little more studied. She glanced away from Milt, down the beach, as though she might see him there. Then her eyes tracked back to his and she gave a little sigh. "Well, he's off somewhere. You know how he is."

The frown deepened. "He's avoiding me, huh?"

"Oh, no," Nancy reached out and put her hand gently on his arm, "I don't think so. No." Then she paused, and added, a little more quietly, "But he might think you've been avoiding _him_."

"He said that?"

"Not in so many words," Nancy replied, with the beginning of a wise smile on her lips. "But I can tell."

"Well, I'm not," Hardcastle drew himself up, a little stiffly. "I worry about him—" No, that wasn't quite right. He hesitated a moment. Then he started again slowly. "I don't have to worry about him any more, do I ?" He looked off to the ocean. He heard no reply from Nancy. "I _do_ think about him," he finally added. "I just don't like to talk about it."

Nancy shook her head, then looped her arm through his, standing by his side, looking out at the waves. "No," she said, still quietly. "I suppose you wouldn't." She gave his arm a little hug. "Might help if you did."

The judge took a deep breath. It was easy. Everything was so damn easy with her by his side. _Oh, God, he'd missed that._

"I'll make it up to him. There'll be time for that now," he assured her.

00000

He'd missed something. Somehow he'd gotten flat on his back. He still couldn't breathe and lots of people were talking over each other. Things were happening. It was all out of his hands now. He was only listening for one voice and he finally caught that one, distinct from the rest, demanding that he keep holding on.

00000

"Lots of time for that," Nancy agreed gently, with another pat on his arm. "Eventually."

"Whaddya mean _eventually_?" he protested. "What about now?"

She looked up at him quizzically. "Now's all right, too," she smiled reassuringly, "if you don't have anything else to do first. We can wait, you know; we're not _going_ anywhere." Her tone had gone rather practical.

He harrumphed. "I thought you'd be _glad_ to see me."

Her smile was warm and hinted at laughter. "Oh, we are; we always will be. Tom too, _really_. But . . ."

"But _what_?" He crossed his arms, putting his left hand on hers and tucking her arm into his side snugly. She fit there, just like she always had. He had no intention of letting her go again.

She hadn't said anything for a moment and he was beginning to think the argument was over, which would have surprised him, being that this was Nancy, when she sighed again.

"Milton," she said firmly, "I think you're forgetting something."

He paused. He glanced up over his shoulder, at the path, and the steps, and the estate behind him, then down at her again, "I don't think I can get back up there."

"Well," Nancy was considering it, "I didn't say it would be _easy_."

00000

Noise, too many voices, and way too much light. He was missing a piece again. _You're in a hospital._ _An emergency room. _But now even the pain was a distant thing, like it was happening to someone else. A middle-aged man in green scrubs was leaning in toward his face and trying to explain things to him; must be the doctor, but none of that was really important now.

"Where's Mark?" He heard himself, and barely understood his own words for the slurring.

He tried to lift his head and start over, but someone was holding him down, telling him not to move. He heard someone else, a woman, right behind the man.

"What do we do with this?" She was holding his gun, still holstered. The doctor was ignoring her.

Hardcastle frowned. "Give it to McCormick," he murmured. _There, that was a little clearer. _He was pleased with himself. "He's the only one who can lift it." He'd added a quip, just to show he was still in pretty good shape.

00000

"Now was that such a good idea?" Nancy asked, with obvious disapproval. "Giving him your gun like that?"

He'd almost jumped. She'd taken him by surprise with the suddenness of the comment.

"Well, I . . ." he found himself at a loss for words.

"After Tom was . . . gone, I hid it in a drawer, under some of my things, for three months." She was looking up at him, her mouth set in a grim smile. "You never asked about it."

He shook his head. He remembered. He hadn't _wanted_ to know where it was.

"And there you go, giving it to that poor kid." She tsk'ed gently. "What were you _thinking_, Milton?"

He frowned. "Mark's okay. He wouldn't do anything stupid."

"How can you be so sure?" Nancy insisted. "Losing someone can change a person."

He looked over his shoulder again, up at the path and the steps, watching the gulls wheel and turn over the cliff above.

"Well, now you'll just _have_ to go back." She said it in a way that he knew, from prior experience, would brook no refusal.

He nodded. He said nothing.

"Will you wait for me?" he finally asked, and he hated how damn plaintive he'd made it sound.

"Of course," she replied. "Always, kiddo."

"Well," he added, practically, "not right here. You don't have to do _that_, I mean, of course not. I might be a while."

"Of course." She smiled up at him.

He gave her arm one last squeeze. She raised her face a little further and met his kiss, full and unhurried, and as sweet as a promise. Then she pointed him toward the start of the path. He took a few dutiful steps, then turned and looked over his shoulder at her again.

"We put some drainage tiles in the rose garden," he said, "Mark and I did. He found a Lydia and planted it back there. I'd told him it was your favorite."

"I know," she smiled again. "You told me about it."

"I did?" He looked bemused.

"Yes," she shooed him a little, "you did, remember?" She sighed. "You tell me damn near everything." Her smile was very fond and only a little sad. There was a pause, and then she added, "Maybe you could talk to Tom, just once in a while?"

He studied a spot far out among the breakers.

"I wouldn't know what to say."

"Hah. Men." She sighed again.

He trudged away, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

00000

He felt every heartbeat as a sharp, staccato blossom of pain. And there were voices, but not the one he wanted to hear.

00000

"No," he shook his head stubbornly, one hand on the railing, one foot on the step. The air was suddenly thick, as though a storm might be moving in. "I can't. It's too damn far back."

"Nonsense," she'd followed him as far as the steps, "when did you ever give up?"

"Why did you hide the gun?" He'd said it sharply, without turning around, still frozen in place.

"Just a precaution," she said in her always-practical voice.

"I didn't find it till a year later," he went on, caught in the memory. "I was cleaning out those drawers." He paused. "Actually, I was having Sarah do it," he corrected himself quietly. "She found it."

"Poor woman," Nancy smiled. "Must've given her a start. She never liked those things."

"Well," the judge nodded, "I do remember her having some pointed words about it."

"I'll _bet_."

He looked over his shoulder. Nancy was grinning. Her smile was infectious.

"Okay, mister," she gave him a sharp swat. "What the hell are you waiting for? Move it or lose it."

He nodded and turned away, and put one foot in front of the other.

00000

This time it was not so bright, and the pain wasn't so sharp. It had the wrapped-in-cotton feel of narcotics to it, but he still didn't want to take a very deep breath.

A twitch of something against his left hand, someone holding onto it. Mark. A little jerking movement like he'd woken up from a half-doze. He was slumped in a chair next to the bed. Even in the half-light—_it must be very late—_he could make out the lines of fatigue on the younger man's face.

He tried to say something. The first word was barely a croak, but it had an impressive effect. Mark was sitting up, leaning forward, blinking owlishly. His smile had a deeply worried edge to it, but he was smiling.

"Shh," he said very quietly, and then dropped his voice to a low murmur. "You're okay?" Question, statement, reassurance. "You'll be okay. Don't talk. They'll kick my ass out of here if they think I woke you up. These nuns are _tough_." He was glancing past the bed to the doorway, as though he expected to be caught red-handed any moment now. Then he dropped his gaze back down, admonition forgotten, "You need anything?"

Hardcastle swallowed once and shook his head the barest distance necessary. He felt Mark's hand slipping away, an almost furtive movement, with a look of sudden embarrassment on the kid's face. He felt his own grip tighten slightly, just enough to stop the evasion. His mind was strangely clear, but there was no reason anyone else had to know that.

"Okay," he croaked. He wasn't sure he'd managed the right inflection.

"Yeah," The younger man's smile broadened a little. "You're gonna be." Part of his face still held worry in reserve, but the smile was genuine. "You are one stubborn old donkey, Hardcase."

"No . . ." He paused; he gathered another shallow breath. "You . . . okay?" This time he'd gotten it right, and McCormick's smile froze, as though he'd slipped on a mask, a parody of relief.

Marks's head dropped forward a little. "Yeah, Judge," he looked off to the side, "I'm not the one looking forward to a cold bedpan." The joke fell a little flat. He hadn't even tried to put much effort in it.

Hardcastle studied him a moment, trying to remember something. It was important. _Oh_, _yeah, _"The gun . . ."

Mark's eyes had snapped back up and locked onto his.

"It's safe?" the judge asked. He didn't know why this nagging thought was bothering him so.

The smile was still there, but it had taken on a rictus quality, and McCormick's fingers had gone stiff around his own. Hardcastle was still trying to puzzle it out, when the other man seemed to collect himself and finally said, very flatly, "It is—I gave it to Frank."

Hardcastle nodded, almost imperceptibly, and muttered softly, "Knew you'd do the right thing." He felt Mark's hand trying to free itself again. "Sorry," the judge added quietly. "Shouldn't have given it to you. Not thinking."

"Oh, _God_," the suddenness of the kid's reply took Hardcastle by surprise, "none of this is your fault." The smile was entirely gone. In its place was the beginning of alarm. "_None_ of it," he repeated with intensity.

"Not yours, either," the judge murmured. He took a deep breath, truncated by pain, then he tried to make his point again. "It was nice to be back in the saddle, you know, even if it was only for a few minutes."

"Oh, Hardcase . . . that was 'nice', huh?" Mark grimaced. The look of alarm was fading, in its place a shadow, maybe regret. "What are we gonna do with you?"

The judge felt the grip on his hand, now very firm and entirely unselfconscious.

"You should try to get some sleep, okay?" the younger man insisted, using his free hand to pull the covers up a little higher.

"You, too."

Mark nodded—less of a lie than saying 'yes' out loud, Hardcastle supposed.

He nodded back and added, "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"No," Mark answered quietly. "When you're better. There'll be lots of time for that. Eventually."


End file.
